The Revelation of St Ichabodelicious
by bardvahalla
Summary: Hearest thou the Word of Saint Ichabod, who melteth panties in thy Sight.
1. Chapter 1

The Revelation of Saint Ichabodelicious :

Chapter 4. Verses 1 - 13

And it came to pass that Fox TV, didst pull visages from posteriors to showeth the fandom multitudes of their sincerity, and that they didst fully repent for screwing up Firefly. 1 Thus did they set about not to bugger things up as they had done in the past, and verily, Fox didst renew #sleepyhollow for a second season. 2

And the #sleepyhead fandom did rejoice, and Tumbler did wet themselves in glee. 3

And Lo! theorlandojones didst encourage the writing of fanfic, tho not of a Musical Episode, lest the Shark be Jumpeth.4 Verily, the SHfandom cared not, for The Orlando didst read Slash and didst understandeth their OTPs and mpregs and hurt/comfort and fluff and all manner of saucy gifs/jifs. 5

Therefore it was shown that TomMison could melteth panties whilst bearing only an English Accent (TM) and a fortnights' growth of beard, reducing even distant NorthStar ladies to a puddle of wailing angst in thy sight. 6

Yet a great consternation grew in the fandom, for clearly the American SHfandom didst puzzle at St. Ichadoelicious saying "Leftenant" and until the UK fandom didst explain. 7

And a meme was born.8

Meanwhilst, the POC did sayth enmasse unto all TV/Movie executives, "Looketh thou at the mindbottlingly awesome ratings! 9 Doth thee seeth this truth!10 Doth it convinceth producers to rend thy narrow casting couches into tiny bits! 11 Surely now thou seeth that thy series offerings of pallid sausagefest need not be liketh white on rice!" 12

And the accountants didst duly note that point, and raiseth it at the next board meeting.13

_Here endeth the lesson_


	2. Chapter 2

The Revelations of Saint Ichabodelicious

Chapter 5

Concerning the division of the Fandom

Thus, even after only a handful of episodes, didst the shippers of various factions divideth themselves. On one side they stood the Ichabbies, and uponst another were the Ichtrinas and a bit left of centre stood the Irvingbodians, the Moralesbodites and the Yolandabods and the Sandmanwiches, the IchaJens, the Luke/IAmYouyrFatherians, the Hessian/Wendy/OpenMindedPumpkinites, the PossessedHorse/MyLittlePonites and various other slashy combinations that breaketh my brain to rendereth the land weak in the knowledge of Internet Rule 34.

And lo, the slashy meme's, shops and the gifs didst filleth up the bandwidth of Tumber. And the ficcers did rejoice and prevail upon the Prophet Orlando to readth such fic on YouTube. It came to pass that the Prophet Orlando did said unto the fandom, "Thou art so awesome. Whippest me, beateth me, teach me love."

And the fandom didst weep with joy, and mpregged Irving/Hessian until their fingers didst bleed.

Verily, among the IchAbbies, there was a great consternation in the realm of Hollow, for the ancient and unwashed garments of Saint Ichabod were funky and so last 17th century. And thus the fic didst flow concerning Laundromats, and personal hygiene, and fluffy shopping binges and updating unmentionables of a personal nature and the awkwardness of such moments.

Thus the fandom didst bicker about the merits and historical accuracy of Saint Ichabod's new boxers/briefs or a combination thereof, and whatst natural fabric would not irritate his naughtybits lest his slashiness be impaired, amid fears PWP fics wouldst suffer.

And, Saint's Ichabod's good wife, Katrina, didst tap her foot impatiently, for she dist languish in a timeless realm, where she could getteth no nookie, and couldst only recall the Beast with Two backs doing it from over two centuries past, and IchAbbie slashy fandom did giggle unbecomingly and sayth, 'Tough rocketh.'

And The Prophet Orlando didst beseech the Apostle Phillip of Iscove, who didst only nod knowingly and say, "I must not divert fromest the story arc, lest the fandom hijacketh mine production values. Rememberest thou the train wreck that wast X-Files? Didst not Scully descend from being a rocking sceptical character to a whingy twit bent on bearing crotchfruit and bonking Mulder? ALAS!"

Verily the Prophet Orlando, dist see wisdom in this, and encouraged the fandom to slash freely, but to keepeth it out of Canon.

Here Endeth The Lesson

Next week: Reflections Upon the Prophet Orlando and his message of Hope


	3. Chapter 3

The Revelations of Saint Ichabodelicious

Part the third - A Massage of Hope from The Prophet Orlando the Openminded

And it came to pass, that the Studmuffinliness of Saint Ichabod grew like a pimple on the backside. And the fangirls didst palpitate, and start Pinterest boards and squee exceedingly.

And his chesthair was coveted.

Thus a tribulation and lamentation fell upon the #sleepyheads whence it came to pass that there was a Hiatus and many weeks didst past before a new episode came unto of airwaves of Fox. Time didst crawl like a drunken gnat and the gnashing of teeth was liketh nails upon a blackboard.

To quench the consternation, The Prophet Orlando didst go forth unto AfterBuzzTV, and Twitter, and Tumblr and YouTube and Queen Latifah's show, ComicCons and live chats on Global and proclaim to his flock, "Verily, I tell you that all will be revealed and I will readeth your comments, despiteth issues that some of this multitude are excrement of small furry flying rodents with sonic capabilities."

And the shippers and the slashers didst beg for tidbits of spoilers, and the more gen oriented fans sought knowledge on the Apocalyptic plot points. In his wisdom, the Prophet Orlando revealeth naught and didst mess with them a bit, but eventually didst post fan art of high quality, and pics of him crossdressing to divert the easily swayed.

"But lo," he sayeth to the Fandom of Hollow, "Be not afraid, for the writers haveth thy shit together, and they have set the parameters of this thine universe, and they knowst the Big Picture, and they shall not fucketh up the story arc, like Chris Carter didst in his hubris."

And there was joy within the fandom, despite the lack of a new episode over Halloween, which sucketh, but the Apostle Phillip of Iscove didst tweet at them to getteth over it.

Here endth the lesson

Next week:

Thong of Thongs – devotionals to the Unmentionables of Saint Ichabodelicious


	4. Chapter 4

The Revelation of Saint Ichabodelicious

Part the Fourth

Thong of Thongs

Oh blessed art this garment,

That containeth thy Junk

Of revolutionary Crane

Whom fangirls dub Hunk.

Soft linens to enfold the "Boys'

To guard 'gainst leather chaffing

Should be briefs to snuggle up

To prevent the Horsemen's straffing!

A decision must be makest now!

To be cupped by thy Loom's fruit?

And lo! nestled 'gainst English thigh

Albeit furry, yet still ... elocute.

Or to Hanes or Klein Calvin

be Ichy's snuts entrusted?

Verily, no chastity belt for thee!

Lest thy knickers become rusted.

Nor speedos for thine netherbits

Nor polythings on thy winkie!

Nor frilly, fetishy, sparkly novelty

Forsooth, Saints should not be kinky!

Yea, boxer/briefs for thine sacred bits.

of shade manly to melt panties.

Discard the button'd travesty!

All hail, Ichy' updated manties.


	5. Chapter 5

Part the Fifth

Wherein the Ichatrinas and the Ichabbies doth explodeth in this thy backstory

And it came to pass in Season One-Episode Six, wherein Saint Ichbod wast secretly taken by his Wide Mouthed Masonic Brethren to a dark room fullest of scented candles causing Saint Abbie of Our Heels on High to freaketh right out.

And lo, Katrina didst send St. Abbie a vision of surprising WTFedness, and vaguely alluding to ghostly biter of ankles, and the world's fulgest beanie babie, and a great dealeth more candles, causing some Fans of Hollow to exclaim, didst not they getteth the memo about LED lighting?

And the Captain of Irving didst hear the ramblings of Saint Abbie, about Witchies, and SinEaters, and Visions, and the return of the Horseman Headless, until his headeth hurtest greatly and he just ramblest about his lost virginity and so signest off whatever St. Abbie desireth.

And Saint Abbie didst set forth to findeth the Sin Eater, who did doth say unto Saint Abbie and her sister, Saint Jenny of the Awesomely Snappy Comebacks, "Verily, I eateth Sin no more, for it goeth straight to mine hips."

And Saint A bbie didst find Saint Ichabodelicious and sayeth unto him, "Thy goodly wife Katrina hath sent me to find thee and sayeth that thy boyeth night out is so done. Getteth in the car or I shall kicketh thine buttocks into an alternate dimension."

And Saint Ichabodelicious did sayth unto Saint Abbie, "Verily I must drink this koolaid for to killeth the Horseman Naughtieth and create shipper angst so great thine shippers shalt needeth hipwaders."

And the panties of the Ichcrabbians did droppeth straight to the floor, and melteth into the laminate causing much discolouration. And the Ichtrinites didst wail and whine and write fics about her binding St. Ichabodelicious wounds, then getteth jiggy whist quoting Latin.

Verily, the Sin Eater didth arrive in time to saveth St. Ichabodelicious, saying "OH Screweth the diet!" and Lo, the angst ridden Saint Abbie did huggeth Saint Ichabod who didst remind her to keepth her wandering hands aboveth the equator.

Here endth the Lesson.

Next week: What doth One do with a Drunken Hessian?


	6. Chapter 6

Part the Sixth

What Doth One Do with a Drunken Hessian?

Letter to Moloch from His Germane Heedlessness, (reprinted in Modern language)

Most Divine Moloch, Lord of Darkness, Etc etc..

Hey Molly, first and foremost, as your representative of Death upon this Earth I wish it known that I am NOT pleased with the current accommodations. IE, Chained coffin at murky bottom of EFFING cold river in Upstate New York. I know you are trying to keep to a budget, but could I get upgraded to a Motel Six at least? C'mon, buddy. You've had me on night shift since, like, forever. Cut me a break here.

Secondly, the last minions you provided were completely useless. All wax and no wick, yanno? That little turd Ichabod has badass chicks in high heels kicking ass and I get a load of 'stick up the bum' piano teachers? Where did you find these gits? Craigslist? And this Andy guy? You are trusting an unpaid intern with sensitive info? Seriously?

This whole situation is completely untenable. After working for you for THIS long you still won't hire me full-time with benefits? I am fed up, Molly. I want to re-negotiate my contract.

Don't come crying to me if this "END of DAYS" launch misses deadline **_again_**. I tried to tell Adolf all this back in the 1940's via a Ouija board and instead he decided to invade the Russians and pull a boner bigger than Napoleon's. Why does NOONE listen to ME? I am DEATH! DESTROYER OF WORLDS!

Honestly, some days I really feel like my Demon Pony is the only one who understand me.

Riiiight. So, once again it's up to ME! ME! ME! to sort out this mess. Typical. Have you SEEN my To DO list lately?

Kill Masons

Get Head.

Destroy book on how to destroy me.

Unleash other Horseman. (BTW - Pestilence is SUCH a bitch. Do we HAVE to work with him again? He ALWAYS shows up to the office with FLU and gets the rest of us feeling all run down)

Kill Ichabod.

Kill High-heeled kick-ass babeilicious witness and scummy, Mercenary sister.*

Call Mater.

Buy Pony treats & UV sunscreen spray. SPF 10,000. Non-greasy kind

See dentist (Send bill to M)

I mean, dammit, Molly... there are only SO many hours in a night. A little help please?

Yours etc.

Horseman the First AKA Death aka DeadHead aka Headless Horseman aka yadda yadda yadda...

*Sister kinda hot. Maybe she's into bald guys.


	7. Chapter 7

Part the Seventh

FROM Moloch, Lord of Darkness & Child Sacrifice, He of the Pallid Buttocks, etc etc,

TO: Headless Horseman aka Lord of Death, First Horseman of the Apocalypse aka Abraham "Brom" Von Brunt, etc.

Oh for FFS, Steve!

If you were not already dead I would so KILL you again! KIDNAPPED? STILL NO HEAD? BOOKING 10+ MINIONS FOR OVERTIME!? What the HELL were you thinking!

Let's get a few things straight right now, Steve...

Your precious Demon Pony is a LEASE! And your payments are, like 234 years past due! I am already over budget for this quarter. **_DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH AN APOCALYPSE COSTS THESES DAYS!?_**

Andy works for ME. Play nice or the next time you need him to talk to your old buddie, I'll make your doe-eyed Neckromancer do his Daffy Duck voice.

STOP mooning over your ex-fiance for ten bloody minutes and get your damn paperwork done. HR is kicking my ass here.

I realize you miss your head, but dude... the expense account cannot provide a replacement for personal shit. Read your effing contract. Call your State Farm rep. There is probably a deductable, but frankly, not my problem.

DO NOT KILL ICHABOD, DUMBASS! Yeah yeah yeah I get that, you are all butthurt over Katrina dumping you, and running off with Crane, and then him ditching you in the forest after getting shot, and then later shooting you, then lopping off your shiny new do/ badass arrow tatted head, and then not dying but coming back to life with that bloodmingling/spell thing Katrina did trying to save him and not you, and then Ichy cockblocking you AGAIN, but FFS Steve – I need Crane for the ... 'super sekkrit' thingie I cannot discuss in detail via interoffice mail. OKAY!?

Look Steve... The deal is you get Katrina, heart body and soul, once the Four Horsemen are unleashed. Kay? Long view here buddy. Patience is a virgin... or something like that.

Look, We'll do lunch this week... oh, right. Can't eat. No head. Pedicure?

)))HUGS(((

Moloch

ENCLOSED: Pony Treats(Organic). UV Sunscreen (SPF 1,000,000)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

St. Ichabodelicious of the belated BabyDaddie Angst

Verse 34 - 52

And it didst come to pass that A Spoiled Bimbo of murky ancestoral origins did go on a spree of shopping, and boughtest shoes of Prada, Unmentionables of Victoria, and a big ass mansion in the Hollow of Sleepy.

And predictably, the POC bodyguard wast a Redshirt, and didst die horribly, and the SH POC fandom didst cry unto the Casting Director, 'Art thou just fucking with us or Whatst?'

Lo, back at the Precinct, Abbie of the Impossibly High Heeled Boots didst prepare a Scottish meal for The Giving of Thanks, but St. Ichabodelicious wast unimpressed and complained that the Haggis was not piped in.

Thus didst Captain Irving send IchAbbie forth to find the Spoiled Bimbo, and tell them of a cryptic note with Mrs. Ichabodelicious' name upon it, thus blocking St. Abbie of the "DO ME NOW CRANE" Raised Footwear from getting any nooky in her sight.

And the Apostle Jenny of the Bodacious Ammo, didst grumpily returnest the firearms to the good Captain, and didst offer to maketh a meal of surpassing nomnomnomisness, but it wast not a date, and the Jen/Irving shippers set sail with great angst and enthusiasm, especially after the Wife of Ex didst arrive at a moment of great awkwardness with spritely impish daughter in tow and say unto the Captain, "WTFeth, is wrong with you?"

Meanwhilst, St. Ichy and St. Abbie didst flee around the house haunted by a douchy Rootman thingie, and didst discover that Saint Ichabod didst slip one past Katrina's goalie, and knocketh her up, and so deliver a Son unto the Plotline. This development didst send St. Ichabodelicious into fits of paternal angst with an ax. A great wail of angst ridden ficcers didst fly into spasms of slash writing, (and also for Bardvahalla to say smugly unto herself, "Fucketh me... I totally called that!")

And after a brief off screeneth trip to a laundrymat to freshen up, St. Ichabod and St. Abbie didst bond over Rum and bitch about relations beingst pain in one's derriere over the holidays.

Here endth the lesson


End file.
